Transporting Damon
by azurefang
Summary: How did Damon get from Wes' lab to the Augustine underground cell? Mostly serious with a hint of humor.
1. Chapter 1

Transporting Damon

_A/N How did Damon get from Wes' lab to the Augustine underground cell? This little story is supposed to be mostly serious, but I hope you see a little humor in it._

_Disclaimer: The Vampire Diaries does not belong to me. Original characters, such as Bull, are mine._

Dr. Wes Maxfield coughed as the fine spray of vervain was slowly sucked up by the air exchange vents. The vervain didn't really hurt him, but it was irritating to breath. In fact, he sneezed several times. Finally, it dissipated and he breathed more easily.

He looked down at the body lying on the floor of the lab, dried blood on the right side of its neck. The edge of the dark T-shirt was stained with it.

"Damon Salvatore. Smartass vampire," he said with a sneer on his face. "You think you're smarter than I am? Well, who's lying on the floor unconscious now? Huh? You are! You injected me with those killer organisms, but you didn't ask me if I had developed a super immunity, did you? And don't you know that those organisms don't give instant death? If I were not immune, it would still have taken quite some time for me to develop the infections, to feel the toxins. You idiot! Just because you have lived a long life doesn't mean you know everything. Ignoramus!

"I can't believe you were fool enough to tell me you were one of the Augustine vampires. Now I actually have an Augustine vampire right here in my lab! How lucky can a fellow get, I ask you? I forgive you for your vicious treatment of me since you have given me this gift. Well, I sort of forgive you."

He walked over to the still form on the floor and gave it a kick in the ribs. There was no response. He was reasonably sure the vampire would be out cold for some time to come. Bending down, he lifted the upper lip of his tormentor, now his victim, and looked at the teeth. Nice teeth, even and white, no obvious fangs. Previously, he had pulled out the eye teeth of a different vampire. It had taken some time for the fangs to grow back. That particular creature had not been an eater of regular food, so it had used a knife to cut victims to get the blood.

"I should pull your fangs, Salvatore. That would ruin your smile for a while, wouldn't it? I bet you are a babe magnet, good looks and all. How many sweet things would buzz around you like little honey bees if they saw your dental gaps? Of course, I guess you are probably good at compelling the ladies if they don't respond like you want them to. With no fangs, you wouldn't be able to bite and draw blood during your little intimate sessions in bed, would you? That would reduce some of the high, I'll bet.

"I'm told it is a humbling experience to have your fangs pulled. A form of vampire punishment in some circles. I wonder if you would lisp or whistle when you talked. Don't worry, you obnoxious fool, I probably won't pull your fangs. I already did that to another of your kind and observed the results. But I'm sure there are one or two experiments I can do on you.

"Not here, though. I need to get you out of here and put you where you won't get away from me. You're strong, but not Superman. You can be kept in captivity like a gorilla. Put on display to a chosen few. Don't you just love that idea?

"Maybe I'll take your clothes away and you can stand in your cage naked like in those ape planet movies. Those men in the movie should have been naked instead of wearing those loin cloths. Where did they get loin clothes, huh? Of course, they couldn't go naked in movies made to be seen by everyone.

A man without his clothes usually feels vulnerable in the company of clothed observers. I bet your stuff would just shrivel up with embarrassment. Or maybe it wouldn't. You seem like an over-confident, vain guy. Maybe you'd like to display yourself. Maybe you'd walk around in a state of arousal and smirk at everyone who looked.

"As long as I can gas you with vervain or inject you with it or tie you down with vervain-soaked ropes, I can control you. What will be done to you has yet to be decided, but I'm sure the Augustine methods will be interesting.

"You hurt my arm, you bastard. You stabbed me with needles with no clue as to what you were hitting, like bone, tendons, blood vessels, my elbow joint. I have fantastic immunities, but now I'll have to take a bunch of strong antibiotics. Thanks a lot!

"I need to call Bull. I sure as hell can't carry you out of here to the car, but he can. So excuse me, sleeping beauty, while I call him." He got out his cell phone and soon made contact with the collage student.

"Bull, come over to my lab. I have a little job I need you to do for me. Yes, now. Ten minutes? That's fine."

For the next few minutes, he took care of the vials of dangerous diseases. He was not supposed to have some of them. Ebola, for instance. That could cause an epidemic. The flesh-eating bacteria were actually common, but they could sometimes do incredible damage to body tissues. He was immune to the rabies organism. He had known that Damon Salvatore was wasting his time injecting those substances into him. The worst Wes had was a really sore left arm because of the needle jabs and the irritating injected liquids.

Bull finally arrived. He was attending Whitmore because he had a football scholarship. He was six feet, five inches tall and weighed two hundred and fifty pounds. He played defense on the school team, but he was also a fast runner. He was a fairly-nice-looking young man. Unfortunately, he was not very smart. His full name was Andrew Bullerton.

The young fellow walked into the lab and looked at the man lying on the floor.

"I need you to pick this man up and carry him to the car for me," Wes said.

"He's got blood on his neck. He ain't dead is he? I don't like dead people."

"He's not dead. Not really. And the blood has dried already."

Bull knelt down on one knee, adjusted Damon's body and then slid his arms under his back and knees. With a small grunt, he lifted the limp form. Damon's head flopped back and his arms hung down. His mouth was agape and his eyes half open.

"Are you sure he ain't dead? Doc, I don't think he's breathing."

"He's _not _breathing, Bull. He doesn't have to. He's a vampire."

Bull swore and threw his burden down as if he had seen a large spider crawling on it. It landed with a thud on the floor, sort of in a heap.

"He's not dangerous," Wes insisted, a bit annoyed. "I swear. He's out cold and totally safe to handle."

"Says you! Man, a vampire?"

"I mean it, Bull. I wouldn't endanger you. Haven't I helped you with your studies and your grades? Don't you think you can trust me?"

"Yeah. I guess. If I pick him up and he opens his eyes, I swear I'll stomp on him and get outta here."

"He won't wake up for an hour or so. I swear. Now, please pick him up."

Bull knelt down cautiously and again gathered Damon in his arms. He sniffed and then decided the vampire didn't smell. That was good. He followed Wes toward the back door of the lab. While the doctor held the door open, Bull tried to walk on through, forgetting to turn and ease his burden through. Damon's head clunked against the door frame on one side and his knees banged into the other side.

"Oops. Okay, got it. I once carried a drunk buddy and he threw up on me and peed on me. This vampire ain't going to do that, is he? I don't want no vampire puke or pee on me. The puke would probably be all bloody. Has he been biting anyone?"

"Not in the last hour. He can't vomit on you anyway. When a vampire drinks blood, it goes right out to blood vessels in his body. His stomach is empty. I'm sure it's quite safe to carry him," Wes said as he led the way to where his car was parked. The vehicle was an SUV and he opened the back hatch.

Bull tripped on a pot hole in the parking lot and fell, dropping his burden again and this time landing on it. With a yelp of fear, he sprang back up to his feet, moved back and stared down at the body, lest it jump up and attack him.

The vampire didn't move, so after a moment, Bull bravely picked it up again. He muttered to himself, swearing he would never pick up a vampire again. In fact, he hoped Dr. Maxfield didn't ever ask him to do something like this again.

"Put him in the back, Bull. Please try not to drop him again," Wes said, trying to be patient and finding it difficult.

Bull moved closer to the open back of the vehicle and sort of threw the scary body inside. It's legs and hips didn't go in and slowly the vampire slid out and into a heap, face down on the ground.

"He don't want to go in there, Doc," Bull said with more alarm.

"Damn it! He's unconscious! He doesn't have an opinion. Try again. Don't throw him this time."

Once again Bull knelt down and gathered up the uncooperative body. Limp bodies were hard to handle. They sagged and slipped and fell. Bull was annoyed that the doctor didn't help him. Things would have gone much more easily if the two of them were doing this.

Then Bull noticed that the vampire now had a cut lip and the blood was getting on his sleeve. Fearing the vampire's blood, the big athlete swore and shoved the body at Wes, who tried to catch it, but his left arm was very sore and a bit weak. With one arm around Damon, he couldn't hold him, and the unconscious body slipped down Wes' front, leaving a streak of blood down his shirt, and settled on his shoes. Wes would have lost his balance and fallen, but he was up against the back of the SUV.

"Pick the bastard up, Bull! Right now! How the hell can this be so hard? Pick him up."

"He's bleeding! I got vampire blood on me!"

"It won't hurt you! Pick him up!"

"I don't want to!" the football player whined. He faced all kinds of mayhem on the football field where he was fearless, but this was different.

"Bull! I swear you'll be sorry. You will fail your tests and get kicked off the team. Is that what you want?"

"No, sir!"

"Then pick him up, damn it!"

Bull groaned in despair and picked up the cumbersome load. He noticed a scrape on the vampire's forehead that was now oozing blood. So was the back of the limp right hand. This time he threw the body over his shoulder so that Damon's head hung down Bull's back and his hips were over Bull's shoulder. The pressure on Damon's bladder was too much.

"He's peeing on me! He's peeing! You said he wouldn't pee on me! And it's cold!" Bull yelled. He moved to the open back of the vehicle and yanked the body off his shoulder. As Damon's head come up and over from the back, it banged into the raised hatch. His body did not go into the vehicle.

Bull clutched it tightly, front to front, knowing he'd be in more trouble if he let it crash to the ground again. He found himself face to face with Damon's head, with the dirty, bloody, cold forehead pressed to his own. The half-open eyes seemed to look right into his own. This was awful! Disgusting! He felt like he was hugging a zombie. With a cry of revulsion, he shoved the body into the back of the SUV. This time it stayed there, although the legs were half way out.

Wes shoved the legs inside and slammed down the hatch. One of Damon's legs had slipped forward and the hatch came down on his ankle. Wes cursed and shoved the leg further inside and closed the hatch.

"Get in the car, Bull."

"Why? I did what you asked."

"And do you think I am going to leave him in there? Don't you think we have to move him again?"

"We? You didn't help me at all," Bull whined.

"He hurt my arm. I can't help. That's why I called you. Now, get in the car."

With resignation, the young man got inside and Wes drove. It only took minutes to get to where he wanted to put Damon. Bull sat in silence, picking at his cold, damp shirt front and the bloodied sleeve.

"I can't believe he peed on me. Vampire pee. And blood," he muttered, shuddering. At least the urine didn't have much of a smell.

"Well, be thankful he didn't vomit on you," Wes muttered back.

At their destination, Wes parked and they got out and walked around to the back. In a moment they were staring at the dirty, bloodied, disheveled captive. They both pulled the body to the back edge and Bull once again gathered it up in his arms.

"He's got blood on the back of his head now," he observed.

"That's because you whacked his head on the hatch door. Have you got him this time? You aren't going to drop him?"

"No, unless he starts to move. Or he looks like he's going to bite my neck," Bull growled. He found he was getting used to handling the vampire's body. It wasn't so bad anymore. He wondered what Wes was going to do to the undead man, but he didn't ask. Instead, he followed the doctor down some stone steps and this time didn't whack the head against the door frame. The cellar became well-lit when the doctor flipped a switch and Bull could see there were cells with strong bars, plus other things. He didn't want to look too closely.

"Put him in there," Wes said, pointing to one cell.

Bull walked in and knelt down. He was determined not to drop the body again. It already looked the worse for wear. He laid the vampire on his side. He knew from experience that it was the best position if there was any chance the unconscious person might throw up. He didn't know if the doctor was right that vampires never threw up, but he felt he owed this one some consideration after the way he had mishandled carrying him. He looked quite battered.

"Sorry about dropping you so much, dude," he muttered. He then stood up and walked from the cell. He watched the doctor lock it.

"Are you going to treat his wounds?" Bull asked, thinking that the cut on the back of the vampire's scalp might be deep, might need stitches.

"No. I don't need to. Vampires heal quickly. I'm sure he's not actively bleeding now," Wes assured the athlete. "Come on. I'll take you back. Were you at a party?"

"Yeah. A good one. I need to wash up and change my clothes first, so you better take me to the dorm."

"Fine. Thank you for your help, Bull. I apologize for yelling at you."

"That's okay, doc. Sorry I kept dropping him."

A little later, Damon Salvatore woke, regained muscle control and looked around. He saw immediately that he was in a cell in a cellar or dungeon-like place. Not good. More alarming was that it looked familiar. Then he noticed the spot where he had once, many years ago, scratched his initials on the wall. Not good at all! Groaning from achiness and bad memories, he now remembered the vapor that had knocked him unconscious. He was Dr. Maxfield's prisoner! And Maxfield was an Augustine experimenter!

He looked at his hands and arms and saw that they were dirty and had healed scrapes. His lip, forehead and scalp were sore. When he reached up to touch the back of his head, his fingers came away with clotted blood. He realized his pants were damp. He could not figure out why he felt like he had been beaten up. Why did his clothes look like he had rolled in dirt? Where had he been? He was really sore all over. Had Maxfield beaten him while he was unconscious? Why? Just for revenge? Did it matter? Didn't he now have more pressing problems?

The dizzy after-effects of the vervain and a throbbing headache from various blows to his head and assorted bad memories of things done here - all made him want to vomit. Despite the assurances the doctor had given Bull, the vampire leaned forward and got rid of the remains of the cheeseburger and fries he had had for lunch about two hours before. He then sat there on the floor, leaned against the rock wall and closed his eyes. There was nothing he could do but wait for whatever came next.

_A/N This story is meant to be a one-shot, so I don't expect to write a follow-up. Unless someone has ideas for one._


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N I decided to write a follow-up to Transporting Damon. Since he is locked up, he isn't going anywhere for a while, or at least not very far. Being in Dr. Wes Maxfield's custody is not funny, so there is no real humor in this, except in some sarcasm. Some of this is not canon._

Chapter 2

_Stupid! Stupid!_Damon thought as he sat on the cold floor of the cell_. _Just in case the not-good doctor had been careless, he checked his pockets for his cell phone. It wasn't there, ofcourse._ How could I be so stupid? Why did I tell him I had been one of the Augustine vampires? I should have kept my mouth shut. Sometimes I talk too damned much. And obviously I should have restrained him with something other than that latex rubber tubing. What is the matter with me that I made mistakes like that?_

_ I suppose it doesn't matter that I told him. He was getting himself free and would likely have made it to that button on the wall anyway. I should have known he had some sort of back-up device to immobilize a vampire. I let myself be distracted when I saw the number on that blood bag. It really blew my mind. Another mistake on my part. Stupid!_

_ If I don't get myself out of here somehow, I'm in deep shit. Maxfield is a follower of Augustine and just as dangerous and crazy. He's obsessed with vampires. He's not just doing tests for research, he's a sadist. He's doing it because he gets off doing it. I've been here before and I know how it goes. Torture the vampires. Hear them scream and beg for mercy. Watch them heal so you can torture them some more. Watch them lose their minds because they're caught in an endless trap of pain and healing._

_ They say the Nazis doctors had a few vampires to experiment on. That bit of information didn't get around, but it was rumored in the vampire world. They had the doctors do experiments on humans, but they also did things to their vampire captives, trying to find out how they were different from humans, especially the internal organs. How they were able to heal over and over. Just how strong vampires can be. How they responded to different things. How they were sexually. Maybe the females had it worse, but I'm not so sure about that, since we males can be sexually abused too._

_I wonder how much Maxfield will do. I suppose it is just wishful thinking on my part that he won't cut me open without anesthesia. It would be nice if he had me here to ask me questions instead of trying to find out how much pain I can take. I can take a lot, but I'd rather not. Pain hurts. It gets on my last nerve, as they say. I can scream. I'm good at screaming, but I won't beg. Not really. I have some dignity. I have some pride. Hell, I have a lot of pride. Stupid me._

_Pride goeth before a fall, or so it's said. I guess it's sometimes true. If I had been more alert and less so sure of myself, I wouldn't have been careless and ended up here. I don't want to be here. I__**really**__ don't want to be here. I don't know if I can take all that again. I feel sick just thinking about it. I'm not too damned proud to admit that to myself._

_At least I still have my clothes on. How did they get so dirty? What happened after I passed out? Why did I pee my pants? At least I didn't lose control of my bowels, too. I suppose that will come soon. My guts are grumbling already and I don't see a bucket in here. There never was a bucket. We had to live like monkeys in filth. So what if once in a while they hosed down the cages. Big deal. Except I hated having them turn the cold water on me._

_We were naked most of the time, the bunch of us, each in our own cell. Except when they paired us up to see what we would do. Get alone or ignore each other or fight or try to rape one another? Just for their amusement. The bastards!_

_ I don't hear anyone else here. Am I the only one? Is he going to concentrate on me? I hope not. I'd rather he spent some time working on someone else. You better be careful, Maxfield, because first chance I get, I'm going to kill you. Rip you limb for limb. I should have done that while I had you, instead of questioning you. Stupid me! _

_ I know Dr. Augustine Whitmore is long dead. He would be in his eighties if he were still alive. So would his twin brother Alastair. Obviously, Augustine was the evil twin. It doesn't matter. They are both dead. There's only one Whitmore alive now and I don't believe he's into this. It's just Wes Maxfield I have to contend with and whoever helps him._

He heard footsteps and a door nearby opened. He sat up straight, his back to the wall, his knees drawn up and his forearms resting on his knees. He looked patient and at ease, even if he didn't feel it. He put a false, amused smirk on his face and waited.

Dr. Maxfield walked into the holding area and stopped outside Damon's cell, but not so close that Damon could spring up and grab him. They looked at each other, assessing.

"Do you know where you are?" Maxfield asked. He had his left arm in a sling.

"I'm sure you're going to tell me."

"You don't recognize the accommodations?"

"It's a cell. What's there to say about it?"

"One you have been in before, I found out. I have the records. Ironic, huh?"

"Whoopee. Good for you."

"Yes. Good for me. Have you any idea why I, of all people, have the surviving records?"

"Someone held an auction on the old Whitmore stuff? It surprised me that the whole mansion didn't burn down with the fire all those years ago."

"Much of it survived and the family spent a fortune rebuilding. As you can see, most of this basement survived. Not the captives, poor things, but the stone walls and bars. And your initials."

A wave of nausea swept through Damon and he swallowed several times. He didn't want to think of those who went up in flames while he got away. He didn't care about the humans he had killed to escape, but the deaths of the captive vampires, especially the one he had becomes good friends with, still left him with a feeling of guilt and sadness.

"I was never sentimental about mementos like my initials on a stone wall," he said with a snort.

"You think you're so tough. You aren't very smart, Damon Salvatore, or you wouldn't be in here."

"Yeah, yeah. Weren't you going to enlighten me about why you have Augustine's old records?"

"I inherited them. I own the house now."

"Why? You aren't a Whitmore. Or are you?"

"As it so happens, I am a cousin. A descendant through a female line. It seems all the Whitmores died one way or another, except one, but not every cousin. So, here we are. How are you feeling now?"

"What'd you do, Maxfield? Beat me up while I was out? That's pathetic."

"I didn't touch you. The man carrying you dropped you a few times. Sore? You look all healed up to me."

"I'm fine," Damon assured him. He suspected that Maxfield didn't know that soreness lasted way beyond the healing. He wasn't going to tell him that. If he had been experimenting on vampires very long, he should know that. Perhaps, he really had had little experience at it. Perhaps he was new to the game? Supposedly, he was teaching microbiology and how deadly diseases affected the world's population and economy.

"You seem to have a problem with your arm," Damon commented, the smirk still on his face. What he had injected into the man's arm hadn't made him ill so far.

"Stiff and painful. You really shouldn't have done that. I'm very annoyed with you."

"I'm so scared." His sarcasm didn't betray the fact that he really was fearful. He was a little surprised that Maxfield was speaking to him without cursing him. How proper of him. Well, Damon could play that game and continue the conversation without resorting to four-letter words. They could converse like dignified gentlemen, although that was not how Damon felt. There were a lot of nasty words he could throw at the man.

"Is that why there's vomit on the floor? I'll bet under your bravado, you are really nervous about your situation. Do I hear your stomach growling? Are you hungry or are your bowels churning from fear?"

"I woke up dizzy and nauseous from a head injury. That's why I puked. And it's on the floor because there's no bucket in here to vomit into. Lousy accommodations, Maxfield."

"So sorry."

"Yeah, right. Still, a bucket would be a good idea. The nausea and vomiting has started my intestines to protest, if you know what I mean."

"Your problem, not mine."

"Someone will have to clean this cage."

"Not me. You make a mess, you live with it. Did you notice? I took your ring. I assume it is why you could walk around out in the sun."

Damon looked at his left hand. No ring. This added to his sense of serious danger, but he kept the smirk on his face. "I don't suppose you are going to let me go walking outside for some time to come, anyway."

"How true. I have other plans for you. You're the oldest vampire I've had under my control."

"I'm not exactly under your control. You just have me locked up."

They both knew that was a minor detail, easily fixed. Maxfield just snorted and shook his head.

Damon's intestines began to seriously cramp, a fact he tried to hide by not grimacing. He knew the doctor could hear the internal gurgle anyway.

"Bring me a bucket."

"What's the magic word?" the man teased.

"Bring me a bucket, **please**," Damon growled.

"No. I don't think you deserve one."

"Fine," Damon said. He couldn't wait any longer and didn't want to soil his jeans, so he picked a spot in one of the back corners and did his business. He noticed that the doctor continued to watch him with a small smile. "Pervert!" Damon said.

"My pleasure is watching your discomfort, both physical and psychological."

"If I didn't want to keep my hands clean, I'd do what some monkeys do and throw some of this at you. Did you know some apes learn to do that at zoos, because they like to watch the humans run away?"

"I'm aware of that. Some home invasion thugs deface people's houses that way too. Disgusting."

"You could have brought me a bucket," Damon muttered, but he stopped talking when further cramps centered his attention on matters at hand.

"Give me your clothes," Maxfield said.

"You want them, come get them," Damon said, adjusting his jeans and moving away from the "toilet" area. He leaned against the back wall, crossed his arms and watched his enemy.

The doctor looked at the mess on the floor and then at Damon. "**That** tells me you really are nervous about your situation."

"No, it doesn't. **That** is the result of all that happened to me while I was out cold. My whole system is out of line now."

"I think my assessment is correct. You just don't want to admit it. It doesn't matter. You're mine for now and I'm pleased. You enjoy yourself and I'll see you later."

Damon watched the man walk away, closing the other door behind him. Whatever he planned to do to his captive, he was in no hurry to do it. Damon pressed his hands against the back wall and sat down. He knew that he could not escape from the cell. Or at least he had been unable to do so in the past. Perhaps he should check it out just to be sure. As he stood up, the lights went out. He stood waiting for his eyes to adjust, but they didn't really. There was no light at all to which to adjust. He had forgotten that.

He finally did see the faint glow of something that had a trace of heat in it. It was Maxfield's foot prints where he had stood on the floor. Just a few degrees warmer than the cold stone. Up on the ceiling where the recessed lights were, there was a soft glow of warmth, even though the lights were now off. He looked at the corner of his cell and sure enough, the deposit he had made there was also a few degrees warmer than the stone. His own vampire body did not hold much in the way of heat, not like a human body, but there was some small warmth created by his metabolism. He looked at his hands and could not see them. They were cold, cold as ice.

_A/N I will write another chapter if anyone says they want me to do so. Please let me know. Thanks, guys._


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

_A/N Since you all were kind enough to read the second chapter, I went ahead and wrote a third one. Again, a mixture of seriousness and humor._

In the darkness, he began feeling along the bars at the top and the bottom and where they were recessed into the stone wall and the floor and the ceiling. There were a lot of bars and they were set close together. He knew from past experience that one reason for this was that he and some of the other vampires once imprisoned here had been able to shape-shift. He had not done the big-crow thing in a long time, but he wasn't about to do it now. He wasn't even sure he could do the transformation any longer. It took a lot of vampire energy to do it. The big crow, nearly as big as a raven, couldn't get out between the bars anyway.

As he moved around feeling everywhere, he was careful not to step in the mess he had made. Finally, knowing that the bars were secure, he returned to the back wall and sat down again. He ran the fingers of his right hand through his already-messy hair. There was dried blood and a sore place on the back. Dried blood on the right side of his neck was flaking away.

This was a distressing situation. When would Elena and Stefan look for him? Stefan finally seemed to be doing better, and now, this had to happen. It was better that it was him, Damon, and not Stefan. The younger brother was in no emotional shape to deal with this. Still, he had to hope someone would try finding him.

He wished that would happen before he was tortured much. Even in childhood, when he was a human boy, life had given him pain. Giuseppe Salvatore had been quick to punish the boy for any infraction. And young Damon somehow had seemed to find ways to get into trouble for which his father had spanked him or whipped him. Damon had taken it. He was a bold child. A daring child and then a rebellious youth.

He had then survived danger, injury and illness as a young adult in the Civil War. That hadn't been fun. Several times he had fallen victim to bacterial food poisoning or dysentery because of contaminated food or water. Illness took more soldiers' lives than the guns and cannons did. But he had survived.

And as a vampire he had been injured countless times. A few times, like in the hands of Augustine, he had suffered to the point that he was really frightened, trembling and in tears with fear and exhaustion. But the thing was, as a child he had been told once by his beloved mother that bravery was facing fear and doing what had to be done, not letting fear take total control. He had tried to live by those words. So, as scared as he might get on rare occasions, he put on a brave face and told himself he could take it. He tried not to lie to himself about that.

He listened for sounds. He had stopped his own breathing and heartbeat so that he could hear anything. He could not hear any other heartbeat or breathing. He could not sense the presence of another vampire. When he had first woken, he could not smell one nearby, although he could just catch the scent of one having been in this place recently. What had happened to that poor soul? In addition, he had smelled the scent of someone other than Maxfield on his clothes. The person who had carried him, no doubt.

The strongest smell now was of his own making and he wished that he had not had to do that. Between that odor and the one coming from mostly-digested cheeseburger and fries, the place was not full of fresh air. It smelled like a sickroom. Or more specifically, a cell with no flush toilet.

From somewhere came a single drip of water into water. He knew there was a faucet in the area because that was where the water hose had been connected. And there was a drain set in the floor outside the cells. So, that meant the cell where he sat could be hosed down as it had been way back sixty or so years ago.

He suspected that there was a camera in the wall or ceiling that was pointed at him, watching. It couldn't see him unless it was infrared, but perhaps it was. He'd have to be careful not to show weakness when he thought he was alone. Keep a stiff upper lip, as the British used to say.

_I can survive this_. '_Been there. Done that', as the saying goes. Maxfield can't do anything to me without taking me out of this cell. I'm sure he has assistants. Augustine did. I wonder how many. What are my chances of overcoming them and escaping? Probably slim to none. They won't come near me without using vervain first._

_ I hope he isn't into cutting off body parts. I'm always terrified that the parts won't be put back so they will reattach and heal. I know Augustine destroyed some of the things he removed from some of the other vampires. That way, he said, the vampire would either have to grow the part from scratch like a lizard growing a new tail, or do without. I know for a fact that most of them ended up doing without. _

_ Would Elena still want me if I was missing an arm or a leg? I'm pretty sure she would. Would she still want me if my face was missing a nose or my ears were gone, or an eye? I don't know about that. Would she want me if I was missing my really good male parts? I somehow doubt it. We had so much fun in bed this summer. I'd really miss that. Wouldn't she miss that? I don't think I would feel like a man if I were emasculated. Am I being redundant in saying that?_

_Maybe I'm jumping to conclusions about Elena. I mean about her loving me anyway. No matter what. She's not a shallow person, except when she turns off her emotions. I'm a handsome devil. I have a great sense of humor. I know I could still please her, one way or another. I'm good at that, too. I hope she knows there is more to me to love than what I have in my pants. Of course, she does. A man is more than his male parts._

_But damn, what about __**my**__ pleasure? Oh sure, I get quite a kick when I bite and swallow that exquisite human blood. That's sexual in its way. But I like it combined with some action down below. I would really, really miss that. Maxfield could totally ruin me._

_Here I am worrying about his mutilating me when so far he has done nothing but threaten me and leave me in here without a bucket. Of course, no bucket shows he's a mean bastard. He says he's an Augustine man, which means he's cruel and warped, as far as I'm concerned. I suppose it wouldn't be so bad if I was a masochist. My desire for pain is somewhat limited. Okay, very limited. I have to be really turned on before pain becomes pleasure. Or totally drunk or stoned. Around here, it's going to be vervain and that just ain't the same._

_My neck is still sore. I'm glad Elena killed that Jesse guy. Maxfield made him a dangerous and damaged vampire wanting to feed on other vampires. That's sick. Klaus' father Mikael liked that too, although he was out to kill his offspring, rather than feed off them. I wonder if he ever thought about feeding from Klaus. After all, Klaus was not of his blood._

_Klaus' blood has quite a kick to it. I couldn't help but notice that when he saved my life again after Vaughn shot me. I suppose a person could develop quite a liking for something special like that. I suspect I would be healing my sore spots faster if I had some of it now. If Maxfield keeps vervaining me, my healing power is going to get__weaker. That means more pain and longer-lasting. I damn sure wish I were not here._

Some time passed, although he could not tell how much. He made himself relax and he rested. His aches faded, for the most part, and his intestines calmed down, but he couldn't stop his thoughts from churning. He couldn't make his memories go away, much as he wished he could. He thought about things he didn't want to remember. Five years! He'd been a prisoner here for five hellish years back in the 1950's.

He didn't have an orifice that hadn't been injured, and where there was no orifice, a sharp scalpel had made an opening. He had seen his own intestines laid on the outside of his incised belly. He had glimpsed his own heart, stimulated to make it beat, in his opened chest. He had had to use his own hand or hands to align broken bones. He had fearfully watched as amputated parts were held in place by Augustine, who watched the vampire's magic healing power grab onto those parts and reattach them. It had hurt. Everything that was done had hurt. Watching someone in pain had really been a turn-on for the sadistic doctor. And his assistants. And the select few who came to watch.

Even the sexual things had hurt, although there had been times when some pleasure had crept in. Damon couldn't deny that. Augustine had had ways of stimulating sexual pleasure. And yet, even that had been torment and against the will of most of the captives.

_I'm messing with my own mind with all this remembering. I'll bet that's part of the torment Maxfield is expecting me to experience. Remembering is almost as bad as experiencing. Like poor Stefan. Remembering being under water in that box for three months. Remembering over and over the feeling of drowning again and again. That was very traumatic for him. I know as a small child he had a fear of drowning. He eventually became a good swimmer, but apparently the deep-seated fear never really went away. He pretends it doesn't bother him now, but I know it does._

_Well, Stefan, I have some deep-seated fears myself. Sitting here is giving me flash-backs that feel really nasty. If you feel up to it, and if you've really forgiven me for not rescuing you from the quarry, then please feel free to come get me. Anytime soon._

He cringed when the lights suddenly came on, blinding him. With his eyes closed tightly, he listened for the door to open. It did, followed by the sound of footsteps. More than one set of footsteps. He opened his eyes and watched Maxfield come to stand a short ways from the bars. Another fellow, looking like a football player, stood further back.

"Feeling better now?" the doctor asked.

"I'm fine. What now? I see you brought help."

"Yes. This is Bull. He's my reluctant helper, since my regular assistant is in jail."

"Jail? You have good quality help, Maxfield. Are you sure you can depend on this one? I mean, since he's 'reluctant'."

"I help Bull out and he returns the favor. Right, Bull?"

"I don't have to carry him no more, do I? You said I just have to shoot this dart at his butt like he was some animal. So he'd go to sleep like he was before."

"He **is** an animal, Bull. Vampires are not human."

"He looks human. He sounds human."

"Well, he …"

"What's that on the floor? He puked on the floor! You said he wouldn't do that on me!"

He didn't vomit on you, did he?"

"No, but he coulda. And what's that over there? I smell it. He coulda messed his pants while I was carrying him! Ewww!"

"Bull, don't be so squeamish!" Maxfield growled.

Damon could see that the big young man didn't want anything to do with him. It was now clear that he had been the one who had carried him and had apparently dropped him a couple of times. How could a big, strong fellow like that drop him? After all, he was not really a big man compared to many.

"Damon, either come over here and turn your back to us or we will just have to fire these drug darts at you and who knows what we'll hit."

"I'm staying right here. Take your best shot," Damon said with his usual smirk. He doubted Bull would even hit him. He began sidling right and left, making himself a moving target along the back wall.

Bull walked right up to the cell and put the barrel of the tranquilizer gun in between the bars. Before Bull could react, Damon had moved in a blur and snatched the gun from him. He fired it at Maxfield. The dart hit one of the metal bars and skittered away on the floor, while the dart the doctor fired at him jabbed through his shirt and struck him in the navel. The syringe had a feathered tail on it which sort of waved around as Damon stared down at it. He yanked the needle from his body, but he knew it was really too late. Forgetting he was going to be gentlemanly, he cursed at the two men as they watched him.

The vervain hurt. It always did, depending on the dosage and where it was injected. This dose proved to be enough to paralyze him, but not enough to knock him out. He collapsed with a hard thud on his back on the stone floor. He now had a new sore spot on the back of his head.

Maxfield moved to unlock the door.

"He ain't out cold yet, doc," Bull warned. "You better wait a bit."

"Since only one dart hit him, he won't be out cold. But he's paralyzed. He can't hurt you. We are going to undress him and then you can carry him to the next room for me."

"I'm not carrying him! Look at him. He's pissed and he's looking right at me!"

"Oh, come on! He's trying to scare you, Bull."

"He's giving me the 'evil eye.' My grandma used to say 'beware the evil eye'."

"He's not a witch. Vampires don't give the 'evil eye'. Compelling eye, maybe, but not evil."

"Look at him! I moved over here and his eyes follow me!"

Damon took advantage of Bull's fear and kept his eyes on the young man, staring at him intently, unblinkingly.

"Hey," Maxfield said, kicking Damon's left thigh. "Stop spooking him."

Damon smiled what he thought was an evil smile. He narrowed his eyes at Bull.

"I'm getting out of here!" Bull gasped.

"No, you are not," the doctor said. He pulled a cloth handkerchief from one of his pockets. It was used because he had hayfever, so he had to pull on it to open it to its full square. He laid it on Damon's face. "He can't see you now. Okay?"

"I bet he can see right through that with his vampire eyes. He's still watching me!"

"I'm losing patience with you, Bull. I really am. I want to remove his clothes and then we'll carry him to the other room."

"You mean, **I **will carry him to the other room. I don't want to carry some naked dude. What if he's gay and likes the looks of me and gets all excited, if you know what I mean?"

"He has a girl friend. They're living together. Or they were before she came to school here. I don't think you're going to get him turned on. Not at all. Besides, vervain has a dampening effect on that sort of thing."

"Well, I don't want him dampening on me at all," Bull fussed. "He already peed on me."

"I think he's all peed out. And pooped out, too. Come on, sit him up and we'll pull his T-shirt up over his head."

As soon as Bull had Damon sitting up, the handkerchief fell off and Damon stared up at him again. Bull put his right hand over the vampire's evil eyes.

"His eyes are probably going to burn a hole in my hand. I'm going to be really pissed if that happens. I won't be able to play on the team if my hand is injured."

Maxfield noticed the smile was still on Damon's lips and it broadened into a grin at Bull's words. It annoyed the doctor that, despite the bad situation he was in, Damon still had a sense of humor. _Well, we'll see how long that lasts_, Maxfield thought.

_A/N I hope you liked this chapter. I will continue with Chapter 4. Please let me know if I am going in the right direction with this. Thanks._


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

_A/N Warning. This chapter has medical "oscopy" procedures described, but not in great detail. Damon continues to be a victim of mishandling._

Kneeling behind the vampire, Bull removed his hand from Damon's face and let his head sag forward, a position that did not allow staring. Or possible compelling.

"Damon, can you talk?" the doctor asked as Bull pulled the T-shirt up over the captive's head. He took hold of Damon's hair to hold his head up so they were looking at each other. The smile was gone and Maxfield could see the anger in the blue eyes. Although the vampire moved his lips, no sound came out. Nevertheless, the doctor recognized the lip movement and that the first letter was F. "Oh, that's right. You can't talk because you can't breath. Minor detail, right? Well, that's alright. I don't want to listen to your smart mouth anyway. Bull, lay him down flat."

"Why are we taking his clothes off?" Bull asked.

"I want him naked. And maybe I can get the clothes washed. They're a mess and they do stink. Come on, take his shoes off."

Bull sighed and moved around to Damon's feet. He could see that the doctor was expecting him to do all the work. He removed the shoes and the socks and was relieved that they didn't smell like sweaty gym shoes. "I never thought about vampires wearing socks," he said. "Of course, I don't usually think about vampires at all."

"I'm sure that's true," Maxfield said. He reached for Damon's belt and was able to undo it one-handed, but he left the rest to his assistant. He watched Bull struggle to remove the jeans and the briefs underneath. Although the captive continued once again to stare at Bull, the football player wouldn't look him in the eye.

Once Damon lay naked, the doctor noticed that Bull was staring at the vampire's groin area.

"What?" Maxfield asked.

"He looks like a regular guy."

"So? What were you expecting?"

"He's a vampire. All strong and powerful. I thought he'd be bigger down there. You know, supersized or something."

"I'm sorry he disappoints you. Maybe when he's aroused he's more impressive."

"Yeah. Maybe. I mean, not that I care or anything. I'm not into guys, you know. It's just that …"

"Never mind. Come on, Bull, pick him up."

Damon glared at the young man. How dare he insult his decent manly parts? His member was in the upper range of normal size, for heaven's sake, and performed very well, thank you. He'd received plenty of compliments. What did Bull know anyway? Big guy and probably under-sized. Jealous, most likely.

Bull managed to get the vampire up into his arms. "He could use a bath. You ought to throw him in the wash with his clothes. He stinks."

"It's because he has blood on him and he's been sick."

"He's got a dirty butt," Bull growled as he carried Damon from the cell. He only hit the vampire's head a slight blow on the metal door frame. "Sorry, dude."

Damon aimed nasty mental thoughts at Bull, but he couldn't tell if the big guy was aware of them. He wasn't staring at the football player, due to the fact that his head was flopped way back as his body rested in the strong arms.

"I didn't give him any toilet paper," Maxfield said. "I didn't give him anything. He's right. I've provided poor accommodations. Maybe I'll correct that."

_Now that it's too late and I've got a messy cell and a dirty butt_, Damon thought with disgust.

They entered the room that was used for experiments, examinations and surgery. There were several tables meant for procedures, like an operating room table, a metal morgue table and an examination table with stirrup attachments for anything involving the pelvic area.

Damon got a quick glimpse of the room. The equipment looked new, but it was not a lot different from what he remembered from all those years past. It sent a wave of nausea and fear through him, but he kept his face expressionless.

"Put him on the metal table," Maxfield said, pointing to the one he meant.

Bull walked to the indicated table and braced himself against it to lower his burden down. Like the other tables, this one had wheels and they were not locked down. The table suddenly swerved sideways and Damon landed on the edge. He crashed to the floor, flat on his abdomen.

Maxfield yelled at Bull. "Damn it! Pick him up. I'll lock the wheels."

"He's got a cut lip again," Bull said after he rolled the vampire onto his back. "And a nose bleed. And a bump on his forehead. I'm sorry."

Damon's face hurt and his head was ringing a bit from slamming onto the tile floor. He concluded that it was not safe to be carried around by Bull. Not that it was his fault that the wheels were not locked, but still…

Bull laid the vampire on the bare metal and looked at him. At the moment, the blue eyes were closed. He felt sorry that he'd dropped him again. Maxfield handed him a blue towel and told him to pinch Damon's nose with it. Bull did as he was told, even though he was wary of the blood. He wasn't squeamish about it now, just concerned.

"What are you going to do to him?" he asked the doctor, while still holding the nose. The towel covered Damon's eyes, so Bull couldn't see them.

"I've got a bunch of new oscopy scopes. It's a new interest of mine. Has nothing to do with my field of expertise, but I want to learn to use these scopes," Maxfield said with enthusiasm and lifting a sheet covering a table. Revealed were a group of black things. They came in various lengths and diameters, but mostly they looked like long, flexible black tubes, some inches long, one a good six feet long. Several were thinner than a pencil, while one was as thick as a person's thumb.

"I think people are most familiar with colonoscopy. Do you know what that is, Bull?" Maxfield asked, toughing the thicker one with a finger. He then touched several of the others, admiring them.

"My father had a colonoscopy done last year. He told me all about it. Said the doctor stuck this long thing up his rear. It had a light and fiber optics so he could see up inside my dad's bowels. Dad and Mom were afraid he had cancer in there, but the doctor found a bleeding plop."

"Polyp."

"Yeah. The doctor snipped it out and had it tested. It wasn't cancer. That was good news. Just a plop."

"Well, I'm glad your father had good news. Anyway, they make these instruments in all sizes so you can also look into a person's nose and sinuses and down into their lungs or stomach."

"You got one of them six-foot ones here. You gonna stick it up his butt?"

"Not tonight. Sometime tomorrow. First I have to start an IV so I can give him more vervain. If I don't, he'll start moving in a while."

"How are you gonna do that with one hand?"

"I can use my left hand. It's just that supporting my arm with the sling makes it less sore. My elbow hurts."

"Oh. You know what? I really don't want to watch you stick stuff into him. Can I leave? I ought to be in bed by now." He pulled the towel off Damon's face and dropped it on the floor. The nosebleed seemed to have stopped.

"See that door over there? There's a small lounge and kitchen. You can make coffee or have a couple of beers. There's a couple of recliners and a TV. Go make yourself comfortable and I'll call you if I need anything."

"Cool," Bull said and he walked away.

"I assume you heard that conversation and can anticipate what I'm going to do to you," Maxfield said to his "guinea pig." The captive opened his eyes.

Damon couldn't answer, but he did know and understand about the scopes. Years before, in the hands of Augustine, he had experienced a bronchoscopy where the doctor put a non-flexible scope into his mouth, down into his trachea and to the bronchial tubes of his lungs. He had also had an esophagoscopy where the scope went from his mouth, down his esophagus and to the upper part of his stomach.

Both these procedures had been very uncomfortable with his head pushed way back so that the straight metal tubes of those days could pass straight in. They were quite rigid and it was like swallowing a dull sword. He had been restrained and not fully paralyzed and he had fought against the procedures, making it much more painful. In fact, his jaw had been broken and his upper teeth had been badly chipped. The jaw had healed quickly, but it had taken a month for the teeth to repair themselves back to normal.

Augustine had also performed a cystoscopy using a different rigid metal instrument to look up into Damon's bladder. That too had been very uncomfortable. Now, Damon could only hope that the newer, flexible, smaller instruments would hurt much less, perhaps not at all.

He had hoped the vervain would start to wear off and he then might fight Maxfield and overcome him. That hope faded when the doctor successfully started an intravenous infusion that included diluted vervain. It made a burning sensation in the vein and it kept him paralyzed.

"You are a mess, Damon Salvatore. A bloody mess. Let me feel your nose and see if it's broken. We wouldn't want a crooked nose on that pretty face of yours, would we?" He pinched the nose until he thought it was straight.

The doctor had a wonderful time trying out his new instruments. He poked a hole in one of Damon's ear drums so he could see the tiny ear bones. He looked way up into the vampire's bloody nose and found the openings that led to the sinuses in the face under the eyes.

Damon had to take the pain of this probing around without a word. He also felt like he was drowning because Maxfield squirted saline water inside in order to clean the blood out of the way. In no time, Damon had a throbbing sinus headache.

The use of the flexible bronchoscope and gastroscope was much less painful than the use of the old rigid instruments and that was a relief to Damon. To his surprise, the doctor left the last instrument in place, down his throat to his stomach.

"Tomorrow you get the colonoscopy," Maxfield said. "But tonight you have to take this medicine to really clean out your intestines. I know you won't drink it for me, so I'm going to feed it to you through the scope. As you can see, it's quite an amount. It will take some time, so relax. Ha, ha. Like you have any other choice."

Damon continued to send evil thoughts and nasty words the doctor's way. He was sure the man knew he was angry.

"I'm going to go get me a cup of coffee and take care of some things while I wait. See you in a while."

So, Damon lay naked on the cold metal table while the medicine ran from a plastic bag slowly into his stomach and on into his intestines. The aches of the various probings began to fade and he felt better physically. If only he could move. He wasn't even restrained on the table. He was just lying there like a corpse in a morgue.

He wondered if Maxfield would really wash his clothes. It seemed unlikely. Why would he bother with something like that? Damon had gone through three sets of jeans and shirts while Augustine's prisoner. Once in a while they were washed and he was glad to put them on. Most of the time he was naked.

With the drone of the television in the background, he must have fallen asleep because he woke suddenly when someone touched him. He gave a start and opened his

eyes. Maxfield and Bull were there beside him. He suddenly realized that he could move. The vervain was wearing off!

He reached up to grab the doctor's shirt, to pull them together, intending to rip into his throat with vampire teeth.

"Oh my Gawd!" Bull cried, stepping back. "Look at his face! And he's got red eyes! And fangs! **Vampire!**"

_A/N Thanks, guys, for reading and following and commenting. I'm working on the next chapter. I should have it ready in a week._


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Maxfield didn't jump back away from the vampire trying to bite him. He slammed his right fist into the side of Damon's face and then tried to pry the fist from his shirt. His assumption that Damon was weak and still under the influence of vervain was correct.

Despite Damon's efforts and the advantage of a surprise attack, he quickly realized that he didn't have the strength to do the damage he wanted to do. The doctor's blow to his face knocked him back down and his grip on the shirt was broken as the fabric ripped. He then reached for the scope that was still down his throat and his teeth bit into the instrument. He felt a crunch and knew the scope was damaged. He pulled its length out from his mouth.

"Grab his arms, Bull! He's weak. He doesn't have his strength yet. The vervain IV must had been leaking, but he's still under its influence."

"Don't you touch me!" Damon snapped at the big guy. "You'll be sorry!"

Bull stayed back, a look of fear and confusion on his face. Whom should he obey?

Maxfield grabbed a fistful of Damon's hair to try to hold him on the metal table, but the vampire twisted his body off the table and landed on the floor at Bull's feet. The football player uttered a squeaking curse and jumped further back.

Damon couldn't get to his feet, but he could crawl and he headed for the door faster than a toddler with places to go. Since he couldn't really run, he knew he was not going to escape, but he was going to give it the old college try. He wished he had the strength to move in a blur, but he didn't. If he could get into the cell room and block the door, he might be able to get out the other door, which he suspected led outdoors.

"Grab him, Bull! Don't just stand there like an idiot. He's weak, I tell you." Maxfield yelled. He moved after Damon, but since the vampire was naked, there was no clothing to grab onto. He got to the closed door at the same time as Damon and shoved the prisoner aside. Damon came right back, vampire teeth bared. Maxfield kicked him in the ribs hard enough to knock him over onto his side. Again, Damon came right back at him and sank his teeth deeply into his left thigh.

"Bull, damn it, I need your help! Right now! Tackle him! Isn't that what you are supposed to be good at?"

Bull was horrified to see the vampire biting his boss' leg and noticed that one of the creature's hands now had a grip on the doctor's crotch. Maxfield was screeching for Bull to do something and beating both his fists on Damon's head.

Bull finally did something. He kicked the vampire in his disappointingly normal private parts. He heard the creature yelp in pain and saw him let go of the doctor's crotch to protect his own, but he seemed to be biting harder on the thigh.

Damon's bite increased simply because he was gritting his teeth in pain. His fangs hit an artery and he got a good swallow of blood before a huge weight came down on his body. The football player had thrown himself down on Damon, flattening him to the floor and ripping his fangs out of the doctor's thigh and pants leg. Despite the small dose of blood, Damon didn't have the strength to throw Bull off, although he had just enough air to swear at him.

"Damon, stop fighting," Maxfield snapped. "You can't escape. You don't have the strength to fight both of us, so stop before you really get damaged. You hear me?"

Damon glared at him from under Bull's body and said nothing. His fangs retracted and his face went back to normal, an angry normal. He gave up the fight, for the moment.

Bull sprang back up to his feet, very wary of the creature on the floor. In a way, he was relieved to know that the vampire had vulnerable areas. A well-placed kick could give a moment's advantage. Of course, he had to keep in mind that Damon could kick, too. He stood out of leg range as Damon rolled over onto his back and looked up at the two men.

Maxfield looked down at his bleeding and painful thigh. Bright blood was soaking into the torn fabric of his slacks. He swore at his own carelessness. He hadn't checked the IV, he hadn't put restraining straps on Damon and he didn't have a syringe of vervain ready to use.

"Bull, grab his feet. Both of them. You're going to pull him by his feet back to the cell and then stand guard outside until I get there. I need to bandage this wound. Damn him for biting me!"

Although Damon moved his legs and made it hard for Bull to grab his ankles, Bull was persistent and avoided getting kicked in any vulnerable area. In no time at all, he had both Damon's ankles in his big beefy hands. When Maxfield opened the door, Bull backed out into the cell area, dragging Damon on his back. He didn't care that he was scraping the vampire's back on the tiles of the floor. He backed into the vampire's cell, pulled him inside, dropped his legs and bolted for the door.

Damon grabbed one of the big ankles and almost tripped Bull, but the big guy yanked his leg away and broke Damon's grip. Bull ran out the barred door, slamming it shut.

"I won't forget this, Bull," Damon growled, giving him the "evil eye" look.

"You aren't so tough, Mr. Vampire," Bull growled right back at him. Rather than look the devil in the eyes, he let his eyes rove down the muscled body to the groin area again. He thought, _It sure would have been so cool to find he had …_

"You could have helped me escape," Damon said, interrupting the young man's thought. Bull's eyes moved to meet his. "I could have been really grateful and given you some kind of reward. I can still do that if you help me. I have money and I have influence at the college." He really didn't have any influence, but he knew he could get it by compelling certain people.

"No. I don't trust you. You're just saying things to try to get my help. I'm not stupid, you know."

"And you think you can trust Maxfield? Don't trust him, Bull. He's a cruel, sick man and he could turn on you at any time. He could make me bite you and take your blood. And he's wrong about me not having the 'evil eye'. If I could use it on him, maybe I could free both of us. You and me both. Think about that, Bull. It's not me that's your enemy."

Bull watched the man on the cell floor and heard his words, his mesmerizing tone of voice. What he said made sense, didn't it? He felt confused as he stared into those blue eyes.

"I'm not his prisoner like you are," he said. "I can leave anytime I want. He's my friend." His tone didn't sound totally convinced.

"And if the doctor 'unfriends' you, then what?"

Maxfield, a bandage around his thigh already stained red, limped into the room just then and broke the spell Damon was starting to have over Bull. The doctor had the key to the cell door and he locked it. "I'll see you later, Salvatore. Come on, Bull. You can go home now. You did a good job. I'm pleased with you, my friend."

Damon, still on the floor, could see that the doctor had quickly regained Bull's allegiance. Another minute or two and Damon might have had the young man's help. It was disappointing, but perhaps later the situation would change.

When the doctor and his assistant had left, Damon thought about his predicament. Maxfield was careless about some things. Like he had left the lights on and Damon could see a couple of interesting things. One was that the floor had been hosed down and was wet, but clean. The other was that there was a bucket in the corner of the cell and a flattened roll of toilet paper was stuck between two cell bars. _How nice. Not quite the_ _penthouse, but an up-grade._

He felt his nose and decided it had healed nice and straight. He ran his tongue over his teeth. They were all okay, even though he had fallen on his face and cut his lip. There was still a trace of a lump on his forehead. The little buzz in his ear had stopped, so he figured the cut in his eardrum had healed. His face felt puffy. The doctor had put something in his sinuses and the pressure didn't feel good. Lastly, his throat was a little sore because of the scope being yanked out of his esophagus.

Running his tongue around his lips, he tasted some of Maxfield's blood. He had bitten the man's leg deeply. He was sure the blood had tasted rich and arterial. If he had torn an artery in the leg, Maxfield would need to go to an emergency room. Would he realized that or just try to bind the wound tightly? That wasn't the smartest thing to do.

Time again passed with Damon having no idea of the real hour. Surely daylight had come. There was no sound of activity upstairs or in the next room. He thought he could hear the television in the coffee room some distance away, but he wasn't sure.

The medicated fluid Maxfield had fed him via the esophagoscope was working. It made all of his intestinal tract hyperactive, as if he had dysentery, and he spent quite some time sitting on the bucket. He was glad he had toilet paper. As a soldier in the Civil War, he had been sick several times with dysentery. He had almost died of the dehydration, but he had survived, unlike many other soldiers. Dehydration would not kill him now, not as a vampire. This purging would soon stop, but he certainly had a sore rear end.

He was not looking forward to the promised colonoscopy or anything else the doctor planned, but he was relieved that the man was using the thin flexible instruments. What a difference that made!

After a while he became concerned. He didn't care if maybe Maxfield had bled to death. It would serve the bastard right. But on the other hand, no one else but Bull knew he was here. If the doctor died and Bull didn't check on the prisoner, how long would it take for someone to figure out where he, Damon, was?

The cell next to him, like the others in the place, was empty. There was a small window down by the floor between cells. It was barred, also. In those long ago five years of imprisonment and torture, he had befriended the man who occupied that cell. He was a really decent vampire named Enzo, who told him he had already been a prisoner for quite some years. Enzo was a survivor, physically and emotionally. He had helped Damon survive throughout those five years, helped him keep his sanity and even his sense of humor.

Neither Damon nor Enzo were naturally inclined toward homosexual practices, but Augustine liked to study the group of vampires when they were in sexual situations that they were not at all comfortable with. He paired the two men several times to try one thing or another. Although Damon and Enzo hated Augustine and what he did, they did not hate each other and remained friends during the years of captivity, sometimes closer than they wanted.

In those days, Augustine had seen that the prisoners received a small cup of blood every day to keep them going. It was barely enough, but Enzo had long survived on it. In their perpetually weakened state, the vampires had been fairly compliant, doing what they were told, cooperating to reduce the amount of punishment they would otherwise receive. Damon would never have escaped without Enzo's help and Enzo's death was one of those that preyed on Damon's conscience. He had escaped and Enzo had died.

Now, more time passed and Damon guessed that evening had come again, and still no one had come to look in on him. On the one hand, it meant no torture. On the

other, it was worrisome. He paced around the cell, the vervain long gone from his system. His bowels were quiet, but his stomach told him he had missed a meal or two or maybe three. He wasn't sore anymore and his sinuses had drained, making his face more comfortable.

Being at almost full strength, he eased into vampire mode, which gave him further strength, and he began retesting the bars. He pulled, he pushed, he shook and he twisted. They were thick and they were welded to cross-bars. Shaking the bars didn't seem to crack the rock to any useful degree. The hinges on the door were hefty and welded. The lock was probably the weakest point, but he could do nothing with it.

The only thing he had in his cell was the bucket. It was of sturdy metal and had no handle that he could break off. He doubted that he could use it for anything except to bash anyone who came into his cell. Right now, he didn't want to get the contents all over his "room."

A noise finally caught his attention. Someone was in the basement.

_A/N Damon isn't having much luck escaping from Wes Maxfield. Is there any chance Bull will help him? Thanks for reading, guys. Feel free to comment._


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

"Dr. Wes? Are you here?" came a man's voice.

With curiosity, Damon watched as the door to the room next door opened and a man came it. He was dressed in jeans and a Whitmore college T-shirt. He had red hair and a short red beard. In build, he was a little shorter than Bull and not nearly as heavy, more the quarterback-type. If he even played football. He also was a bit older, perhaps a senior or post-grad student. He walked over to the area in front of Damon's cell, but stayed back and out of reach.

Damon decided he probably was the assistant who had been arrested. _Do I act cool or bold and angry or indifferent? Maybe I should do the dumb act. Dim-witted. Sometimes that puts people at ease and they think I'm not dangerous. They get really careless. I think I'll play it that way and see what happens._

"Hi. Who are you?" he asked, coming to the barred door. He smiled innocently.

"I'm Warren. Who are you?" the man asked warily.

"Day-min. Did you bring me supper?"

"No. Where is Dr. Wes?"

"I don't know. He took my clothes and left me here. I'm hungry."

"When did you last see Dr. Wes?" Warren asked, quickly looking over Damon from head to foot.

"I don't know. A long time ago, I think."

"You weren't here yesterday morning, were you?"

"I don't know."

"Are you a vampire, Damin?"

"I think so. I got sharp tooths."

"Let me see them."

Damon bared his teeth, but he didn't let the fangs down. He ran his tongue along his teeth. "I don't think they are there. The sharp ones. They come when I'm hungry. I mean, really hungry."

"Do you bite people for their blood?"

"No. I bite my brother's horse. He tastes good and got lots of blood." Damon had played this part before and could ad lib easily.

"You want me to bring you some blood?"

"Yeah. Please, Warren? And a pizza."

"You like pizza?"

"I love pizza. Can I have one?"

"I'll see what I can get you."

"And blood to drink. I'm thirsty."

Warren turned and walked away, closing the other door behind him. Damon didn't know if he would come back, but at least someone knew he was here. If Warren came back with blood and pizza the chances of escape increased considerably. The best that could happen was Warren would unlock the door to hand the food to Damon. The worst was that he would shove it through the bars with a long pair of tongs. No, maybe the worst was that he would just throw it all at the bars.

It turned out that none of these things happened. Damon watched with concern as Warren came back into the room in a minute, a look of anger on his face. He came to stand facing Damon, but out of reach.

"I just took a good look around the lab in there and it's a mess. There's a lot of blood and I can see it isn't all yours. The blood on your face isn't all yours is it? I don't think some of the bloody foot prints in here are yours. Damin, did you bite the doctor?"

Damon decided to look ashamed and he hung his head.

"Did you bite him?" Warren demanded.

Damon gave a little nod. "He hurt me, so I bit him," he admitted in a shy voice.

"Did you bite his neck?" Warren asked with alarm.

Damon shook his head. "I bit his leg. He got mad and put me in here. I'm hungry. Can I have my pizza soon?"

"You were bad to bite him. I don't think you get any pizza. I've got to find out if he went to the hospital. Damn you, Damin. You are a bad boy!"

Warren left the room again in a hurry, but not in such a hurry that he didn't turn out the lights and slam the door. Darkness fell with a click and a bang.

Damon stood there and whispered curses. He still didn't want Warren to know he was not dim-witted, so he didn't yell after him. He did punch the wall with frustration, which knocked a small chunk of stone free. There were numerous small pits in the walls from kicks or punches, but the walls were thick. Damon then paced around in the dark. He knew the dimensions of the cell and all he had to do was not stumble over the bucket. He was tempted to kick it in frustration, but he kept in mind what it contained and that he was barefooted.

He figured that Warren would call the local hospital. There was only one in this small college town. Then, if he was there, he would go see him. Then what? If the doctor was stuck in the hospital for any length of time, would Warren come by and feed the prisoner? Was Warren following in Maxfield's footsteps and enjoying tormenting a vampire? Warren was smarter than Bull by far and therefore more dangerous. Bull would probably never consider loading a syringe with vervain and finding a way to use it on Damon. Warren would do that. The dart gun was no longer in the cell, so it had to be out in the other room. Warren would know where it was kept and how to load it.

If Warren mentioned to Maxfield that "Damin" was slow-witted and Maxfield told him that it was just an act, then the game would change again. Disgusted, Damon sat down against the back wall and waited. And waited. When his rear end got numb, he got up and paced. And waited some more.

He had no way of knowing for certain, but he guessed that Warren found Maxfield in the hospital. This was true. The younger man located Maxfield and visited him in his room. He learned that Dr. Wes had had surgery for a lacerated femoral artery supposedly caused by a "dog bite." Maxfield had told the doctors that the animal had had its rabies injection, so there was no worries about that. He neglected to tell the doctors that he had been injected with Ebola and other things, but luckily, the antibiotics he had been giving himself and the vampire blood he had taken sips of had killed the organisms and he was not contagious. His elbow had improved quite a bit.

Because Maxfield had a roommate in his hospital room, he had to be careful what he said to Warren and vice versa. Warren told him that "Damin" had admitted to the biting. He also said he wanted pizza for supper.

"Is it all right if I get him a pizza?" Warren asked.

"He doesn't deserve it, but yes, go ahead. But be careful. All his medications have worn off and he's fast and strong. He was prepped for a colonoscopy for today, but that will have to wait. I'm not sure how long I'll be here."

"No wonder he's hungry," Warren said.

"I should be out of here in a couple of days. Give him something once a day. And be very careful," Maxfield whispered. "Don't go in his cell."

Somehow, during this conversation, Warren failed to mention that "Damin" was a dim-witted person. Maxfield didn't know Damon was doing that, so he didn't warn Warren about it. Warren left to buy a pizza. He planned to eat half of it and give the other half to the prisoner.

Damon heard the footsteps coming and he was hopeful for anything on the positive side. He could only hear one set of steps, so he knew it was only one person. Then the scent of pizza wafted into the room as the door opened and the blinding lights came on. It was Warren bearing a luscious pizza!

"You got me pizza! You got me pizza!" Damon beamed childishly at the man as his pupils constricted to pin-point size and he was not blinded anymore.

"You get half and I get half. It's a large one so there's plenty," Warren said.

"Okay." Damon watched the man lay the pizza box on the floor, open it and pull half of the sliced pie away from the other half. Then the man looked up at the vampire.

Damon did a little prance on the balls of his feet, indicating impatience and anticipation. He felt foolish doing it, but thought it appropriate. Appropriate for a dog, maybe. He didn't put his fingers out through the bars as if reaching for the goodie. He wanted Warren to come close.

"Step back, Damin. Back to the wall. Good. Now turn to the wall and sit down."

"But I want my pizza. I'm hungry," Damon whined. He jiggled up and down and then remembered that his privates were jiggling up and down, too. Warren didn't seem to notice, his eyes on the vampire's face. And yet, when Damon stood still and stared him in the eye, hoping to compel him, Warren quickly lowered his eyes to Damon's chest. The man wasn't stupid.

_I can't figure out if he knows I'm acting or if he still thinks I'm dense. He sure as hell isn't going to let me compel him. He's wise to that. What did Maxfield tell him?_

"Is the doctor coming to see me? Will he let me have my pizza?" he whined.

"Dr. Wes isn't coming to see you tonight. Remember, you bit his leg. He's in the hospital."

"He's mad at me, isn't he? Are you going to be mean and eat my half of the pizza?" Damon asked.

"Sit down like I told you and I'll push the pizza in between the bars. If you jump up, I'll snatch it back. Do you understand?"

"Yup." He sat down, but he was facing the man.

"I said turn around to the wall."

"You're gonna eat my pizza!" Damon wailed like a child as he turned around on his rear end. He listened carefully to the sound of the man's clothes as he moved. He suspected that Warren was watching him like a hawk. Even moving in a blur, it was unlikely that he could catch the man. There wasn't room between the bars to get more than a hand and a wrist through.

"Okay, there's your pizza," Warren said.

When Damon turned around, he saw that it was in a pile on the floor just inside the bars. A little dirt never hurt him so he went to the half-pizza and picked it up. He took a slice and bit into it. It was warm, flavorful and delicious.

Warren had moved back and was sitting on the floor against the opposite wall. He had the box on his lap and lifted a slice.

"You're a good guy," Damon said, half really meaning it. He sat down in the middle of his cell and continued eating. "I'm thirsty, too. Can I have some blood to drink?"

"I'll see."

"Bull dropped me on the floor. I think he plays football. He must drop the ball a lot." He wondered if Warren knew Bull. Bull had been an emergency replacement.

"Andrew Bullerton? That Bull?"

"I don't know. Big and tall. Muscles."

"He doesn't carry the football. He tackles other players. Did he carry you for Dr. Wes?"

"He dropped me on the floor and my nose got broke. Then he picked me up and the doctor squeezed my nose. That hurt."

"No wonder you got blood on you."

"I wish I had my clothes. Why'd he take my clothes?"

"I don't know. I guess so they wouldn't get bloody. Where do you live, Damin?"

"In a blue house." He lied about that. He was good at lying.

"Do you live alone?"

"No. I live with my brother. He looks out for me. 'Cept I don't think he knows where I am right now. I think he is worried about me. Can you let me out and get my clothes? I want to go home."

"Dr. Wes and I will take care of you for now. We'll find your brother and tell him you're okay."

This was not good news to Damon. As far as he knew, Maxfield didn't know Stefan or that he lived in Mystic Falls. Stefan didn't know Damon had once been an Augustine prisoner. It was an episode in Damon's life that he had never told his brother about. He realized that he didn't want Stefan involved and maybe taken prisoner, too. The younger brother was not at his best right now.

"It's okay. He knows I stay with friends sometimes. I got lots of friends."

Warren's eyes roved over Damon's body. "You have girl friends?"

"Lydia's my girlfriend."

"Do you get it on with her?"

"On what?" Damon asked with an innocent look on his face.

"Sex. Do you have sex with her?"

"Oh sure. Lydia plays with me and stuff. It feels real good. Do you want me to tell you all about it? Sometimes …"

"Never mind. I don't want to hear the details."

"Do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Play with a girlfriend with your pisser?"

"Sure. A lot, in fact. I have a wife. Dr. Wes will probably find a girl to play with you here. He likes to watch that kind of thing."

_I'll bet he does. Perverted bastard. Been there. Done that. Don't want to do it again. Not in front of you guys._

He hadn't thought of Lydia in a long time. When he was eighteen years old and attending the University of Virginia in Charlottesville, he had already considered himself a sexually experienced man. He had met Lydia and found that he had more to learn. And he had learned quite a bit more since then. None of which he wanted to show Maxfield.

Warren finished his pizza half and stood up. Damon stood, too.

"I'm thirsty, Warren."

"Not now. I've got to clean up this place before I go home and feed the mice and rats." With that said, he went into the other room and Damon could hear him working. As far as Damon knew, Maxfield had not bothered to clean any of the instruments he had used on him. He had probably intended to do that when he was finished with the tests. Augustine had been scrupulous about the care of his tools and he had lectured Damon on its importance, whether Damon wanted to hear it or not.

Eventually, Warren came back into the cell room. He brought a little paper cup of blood. With Damon standing back from the bars, he put the cup down on the floor just inside the bars. Damon picked it up and drank it down in one gulp.

"Is that all?" he asked.

"That's it for now. Look, I'm going to turn the hose on and aim it through the bars. You wash the blood off your face and neck. Okay?"

"Okay," Damon agreed. He could feel the dried blood here and there on his face, some of it his and some of it Maxfield's. In addition, he still had a bit of blood left on his right neck and upper chest. It was from the wound Jesse had made when he had bitten Damon. Lastly, he had dried blood in his hair on the back of is head.

Warren did as he had said he would. He turned on the water and aimed the hose in such a way that the stream went between the bars and into the cell. Damon used his hands to put the cold water on his face and he scrubbed. Warren made him do it several times because Damon couldn't tell when he had removed it all. He also wet his hair and tried to get the blood out of it. He wasn't able to get it all. In addition, the vampire drank

gulps of the cold liquid. The water also splashed on the floor and then trickled out of the cell and down the drain hole.

"Alright, buddy," Warren said, turning off the hose. "I'm finished for now. You go to sleep and I'll see you in the morning."

"What time is it now?"

Warren looked at his watch. "It's a little past midnight. Go to sleep." He turned out the light as he went into the other room and closed the door.

Standing in darkness once again, Damon sighed. At the moment he was wet and cold and frustrated. At least he had had something to eat and to drink and an ounce of blood. Warren had done nothing to hurt him and Maxfield was stuck in the hospital. Things could be worse. Retreating to a dry area of the floor, he lay down on his left side and closed his eyes. For a long time he thought about his situation, but then he fell asleep.

_A/N This chapter is longer than my usual ones. If you liked it and think I should keep going, please review and let me know. Thanks for reading, guys._


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

_A/N Thanks for reading and commenting, guys. Alert: colonoscopy time, minimal details._

Damon woke when he heard voices. The door opened and the lights came on. He squinted against the brightness. Two men, Warren and Bull, came to stare into the cell. Still lying down, Damon looked at them, but made no move to get up.

"See, he's fine," Warren said. "He's been sleeping. He even had pizza for supper last night."

Bull eyed Damon for a long time without saying anything.

"He's a vampire and he bit Dr. Wes real bad, but I feel sorry for him," Bull finally said.

"Why? Vampires heal quickly. Anything that's done to them heals and they feel fine."

"But they hurt. I could see that. I don't even like to see my dog get her shots at the vet. I just know this guy doesn't want to have Dr. Wes sticking stuff into him and hurting him. If Dr. Wes is still in the hospital, I guess Damon didn't get his colonoscopy."

"No, but I'm sure he will sooner or later."

Bull shuddered and said, "I hope I don't have to watch that long black thing going up his butt."

"You won't have to, Bull. I'll be helping the doctor. I usually do, but I got stopped for DUI and spent about twenty four hours in jail. Are you satisfied he's okay?"

"Yeah. So long, dude. Hope the doc doesn't give you a hard time," Bull said to the vampire.

Damon still didn't say anything. He didn't really care that Bull had worried about him, but he now realized that Bull would have checked on him eventually. He watched the two men leave together, leaving the light on. He continued to lie on the floor. It wasn't particularly comfortable, of course, but he had no reason to get up yet. Maybe Warren would return with something to eat. That would be nice. Maybe someone would rescue him. That would be wonderful.

Warren did not bring breakfast or lunch. He later returned accompanied by Dr Wes Maxfield who was using a cane. Damon, who was standing now, stared at the two men who stared back. He had to decide whether or not to put on an act for Warren or let that go. Maxfield would just laugh and say he was trying to mislead Warren. Or maybe he wouldn't laugh at all. Surely he was angry about the bite and the seriousness consequences of it. And Warren would be annoyed at the charade.

"You got a reprieve, Damon," Maxfield said. "But that is over. You deserve some serious punishment. I'll have to decide what that will be. First of all, I plan to finish what we started before you got loose. Warren, when was the last time he ate?"

"Last night around midnight, half a pizza."

"Nothing in the last twelve hours. I doubt the pizza has moved through very far yet. His colon is likely at least half empty. Let's get some vervain." The doctor limped out of the room, followed by Warren.

_ So it begins again. Well, damn. I suppose it was inevitable Maxfield would just jump right in and torture me. He's still got a bad elbow and now a bad leg. It's really Warren I have to watch out for. He's the muscle now._

He stood in his cell waiting and in a few minutes, the two men returned. He was alarmed to find that they were carrying those big water squirt guns kids used to soak each other. Did they contain diluted vervain? Not good. Vervain on the skin burned like a moderate acid. It was absorbed to some degree and enough of it would leave him partially or completely paralyzed.

He moved to the back wall, but this proved to be useless. The men aimed the plastic weapons at him and big spurts of solution came at Damon. He dodged right and left, but since two men were firing at him, he received big splashes of liquid. It burned his skin, leaving red tracks as it ran down his body. He had turned his back to protect his front, but he yelled as the pain went down over his buttocks and down the back of his thighs. Some of the fluid went down between his butt cheeks.

He squatted down, his face to the wall. The splashes quit, but the pain didn't. He moaned and pounded his fists against the wall. Then there was silence, except for his labored breathing. Weakness spread through him as the drug was absorbed through his skin. It wasn't as strong as an injection would have been. He realized that he was weak, but he could still move. He held still, faking paralysis as he leaned against the wall.

"Damon. Talk to me, Damon," Maxfield ordered. "I know you aren't paralyzed and you can talk."

"Maybe he **is** paralyzed," Warren said. "I mean, you can't be sure of the dose he actually got."

"He's not paralyzed. He's breathing. Come on, Damon. How are you feeling, huh? Vervain burns like hell, doesn't it? Answer me or we'll spritz you some more."

Damon swore at him, but he kept his voice more like what he had used with Warren.

"There, see? He can talk just fine. Alright, Warren, in we go. Let's see how much strength he has left. I've got the syringe ready if he fights you too much."

Damon did resist, but unfortunately he was weak. He sat down on the floor, which was wet with vervain and hurt his flesh more. His punches and kicks were next to useless. Warren got him under his armpits from behind and lifted him up. Damon squirmed, and being wet and naked, he slipped in Warren's grip. He slid down to his knees on the floor and flopped forward. He had enough control to keep from falling flat on his face again, but his whole front smarted from the vervain on the floor. He moaned with pain and despair.

"Damn, Warren, you aren't doing much better than Bull did! Why is Damon so hard to lift up and carry?" Maxfield lamented, waving his cane around in frustration.

"Well, he's wet. He's like a slippery eel! The vervain in the water makes him even more slippery."

"Try again, but watch out. He's a biter and a fighter. We may have to put him out, but I really want him awake and well-aware of what I'm doing to him."

Warren managed to gather Damon up in is arms. The prisoner gave him a weak punch in the chin, but then jammed two fingers up Warren's nostrils. It was so unexpected and so painful that Warren bobbled his burden and threw him away from him, much the same way as Bull had done.

Maxfield watched in disbelief as the body of his prisoner landed hard on the floor on his abdomen. Then Damon began to crawl in a sort of swimming motion toward the cell's open door. He was making moaning and yelping sounds because he was in the vervain running out the door and toward the drain.

"You aren't going anywhere, Salvatore!" the doctor yelled in anger and he aimed a kick at Damon's head with his good leg. His injured leg buckled and he sat down hard on the wet floor. Swearing, he then whacked Damon over the head with his cane hard enough to stop him partway out the door.

Warren, his nose bleeding down his shirt front, grabbed Damon's ankles and pulled him back into the cell. He straddled the fallen vampire and grabbed both his arms, pulling them back. Warren sat down on Damon's rear end and held his arms twisted up behind his back.

The doctor used the cell bars to hoist himself back to his feet. He was shaking from his own pain and anger. He smacked Damon on the back of the head with the cane again. "He is absolutely one of the worst prisoners I have ever had!"

"He's sure different from regular men," Warren said. "I've worked as a guard in a jail and I know how dangerous some of those men can be, but they are handled differently than this. And they react differently."

"If it were not for the vervain, we probably couldn't handle him at all," Maxfield said. "He'd have to be in strong chains all the time. Therefore, let me go get some restraints. Sit tight on him."

Damon lay quietly on the wet floor. His whole front tingled and burned from the vervain and he was weak from it. He knew he couldn't get away or even hurt his captors any more at this point. He didn't even have the strength to reach lower on his back and grab Warren by his groin as the man sat straddling him. Warren's grip on his wrists in the center of his back was strong.

"You've really made him angry, Damin," the man said. "Being cooperative would have been better. You could have avoided all this."

Damon didn't answer. He let his body go slack and closed his eyes, hoping Warren might think he had lost consciousness. Warren didn't move. He sat there and kept a tight grip on Damon's arms.

Maxfield came hobbling back from the other room with some restraints. These proved to be a strong belt with wrist cuffs chained to it, plus ankle shackles. The two men wrestled the equipment onto their prisoner, who had no fight left in him.

"All right. Let's try this again. Grab him under his arms and drag him into the other room," the doctor said. He watched Warren follow his orders and this time there was no problem.

"Put him face down on the regular operating table. We can strap him down easily there. I intend to do the colonoscopy even if I don't have the easiest access with him flat on his abdomen."

Damon soon found himself lying on the padded operating table with binding straps over his shoulders, back, thighs and ankles. He was very uncomfortable because his hands were shackled under his belly. Despite his position and the fact that he pinched his buttocks together, the doctor successfully inserted the slender black instrument into his posterior orifice and slowly advanced the scope about three feet.

Both Maxfield and Warren knew that a normal person undergoing colonoscopy would usually be given some sedation or even light anesthesia because the procedure could become painful. The worst discomfort came from having a lot of air pumped into the colon so that the doctor could see the soft bowel walls via the fiberoptics. He would be looking for polyps, cancer, strictures, diverticula, etc.

Damon didn't get any sedation as the doctor pumped a lot of air into him. Although Maxfield was interested in looking at the vampire's intestines, which looked very normal, he was, at this point, more interested in causing pain. The instrument was equipped to force air into the colon. It was almost like pumping up a car tire, although the doctor was limited in how much air he could put in because Damon was lying on his abdomen, which couldn't expand much in that position.

Finally, Maxfield took a large syringe full of vervain and instilled it via the scope into the vampire's colon. He was pleased when Damon howled with pain and writhed on the table. He removed the instrument, which Warren took to clean. The doctor stood watching the creature who had been giving him so much trouble and causing him pain. He felt gratified to hear the moans and groans.

The extra vervain was quickly absorbed by Damon's body and rendered him unconscious, ending his suffering faster than Maxfield had hoped. He had misjudged that effect. In a minute there was no sound except the "tooting" of escaping air. _Well_, Maxfield thought, _I was able to get some revenge. I hope he learned a lesson._

"Warren, bring that scope back. I want to see what kind of damage the vervain did to the colon lining," he said.

Warren brought the now-clean instrument back and Maxfield inspected the bowel for damage. He could see that the lining was red and inflamed, but even as he watched, the healing was taking place. He removed the instrument and handed it back to Warren.

"It is such a shame that vampire blood can't be used more easily and safely to heal people. The dosage has to be so carefully controlled," the doctor said to his helper. "Otherwise it's conceivable that other vampires could be accidentally made."

"I know. But you've told me they have to actually die with vampire blood in them for that to happen."

"As far as we know. But I have read a report where a large dose of it can have the same effect. A couple of experiments were done where a whole pint of vampire blood was given as a transfusion. The person had a cardiac arrest and woke up a vampire. The vampire then had to swallow human blood to complete the transition, of course. Or take fresh human blood intravenously. Either that or die."

"I understand it could happen. It's worrisome."

"Yes. I would like to duplicate that experiment to see if it is true. I turned Jesse, but I did it differently. I need to do it the blood transfusion way. I don't suppose you want to be the guinea pig, Warren?"

"No way, doc! I'll help you do the experiment, but not that way. I have my family, as you well know. I don't want to be a vampire."

"Just thought I'd ask," Maxfield said with a chuckle. The two men stood looking at the naked vampire lying on the table. There was a moment of silence, followed by a rude sound.

"Geez, how long is this guy going to keep passing gas?"

"Until he's empty, I would think."

_A/N Well, so much for that examination. Other stuff to come. Is Warren a good guy or a bad guy? What is his reason for helping the mad scientist?_


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

_A/N Thanks for reading and reviewing, you all. Warning: time for the last examination. Skip that paragraph if it gives you the "creeps." Minimal description._

Maxfield and Warren stood looking at the vampire, unconscious, lying on his abdomen on the table and silent except for the sound of almost continuous flatulence.

"I just wish he was still awake to enjoy the gas pains and that inflammation. He'd have some damned nasty cramping," the doctor said, disappointed.

"If all that gives him diarrhea, I suppose you are going to expect me to clean him up," Warren said, with an expression of disgust. "That pizza is going to work its way through sooner or later."

"Move him to the autopsy table and put him on his back. I still have the flexible cystoscope I can use on him when he wakes up."

"Do you have to do that? The idea of that gives me the creeps," Warren said. He dabbed at his nose, but the nosebleed had stopped.

"Psychological, my friend. The exam doesn't hurt when that small flexible instrument is used. A little discomfort at most."

"Then why do it?"

"It's the last of my new toys. Of course I want to use it. Let's not leave any orifice not examined. Besides, I'm sure the idea gives Damon 'the creeps' the same as it does you. I'm waging a little psychological warfare here or I would use the scope while he is asleep."

"Whatever," Warren said. He glanced at the vampire's pale back. Naked men were of no special interest to him. He had no homosexual tendencies and he was fairly sure Maxfield did not either. At least, Warren had not seen him do anything sexual toward the few male captives the doctor had kept in the cells. So far.

After cleaning the colonoscope again, Warren undid the straps binding Damon to the operating table and transported him without incident to the bare metal table that had drainage holes. He strapped the vampire down again, this time on his back. Maxfield instructed him to tie Damon's hands, still shackled to the belt, up in a position that he could not reach down toward his groin. Then, he and the doctor got busy with other things while they waited for the captive to wake up again.

Damon woke and kept his eyes closed as he listened for any sounds. He kept his heart still and didn't breathe. He had a mild bellyache and various sore spots, but he wasn't in any real pain. He could hear the two men moving around, but neither was close to him at the moment. He easily deduced that he was now on the metal table and strapped down. He was still wearing the shackles on his ankles and wrists, but now his hands were restrained toward his chest. In silence, he waited. The most obvious sound was that of air escaping from his own bowels. He made no attempt to stop it.

Eventually, Dr. Maxfield came over to him and opened one of his eyelids.

"I suspect you are awake, aren't you? Playing possum? Well, I saved the last exam for you to enjoy. I'm going to look up into your bladder. Perhaps you will enjoy it. I don't know if you are into that sort of thing. Hmm?"

Damon opened both his eyes and put a smirk on his face. In truth, he had had a bladder examination before, back when cystoscopes were rigid metal tubes. He figured the flexible one ought to give a much less uncomfortable exam than the metal one.

Maxfield put on a clean pair of latex gloves and then wheeled over a table containing the last of the long, thin instruments. There was also an IV pole with a bag of fluid and tubing because the instrument used fluid instead of air. He came to Damon's right side.

"Are you ready?" he asked the vampire after he connected the tubing and light source to the instrument.

"Sure. Have fun," Damon said in a snarky tone. He was relieved to see that the man used some lubricant on the instrument. He hoped the doctor was not going to put vervain in his bladder as he had done with the colonoscopy.

Maxfield had to pick up Damon's organ in order to insert the instrument. Damon gave him a fake grin, just to mess with the doctor's mind. Maxfield scowled at him and didn't look at his face again. He instead concentrated on looking into the eye piece at his end of the instrument. He noticed that the vampire lay still and made no sound as he inserted the small instrument and looked around inside. The only real discomfort for the "patient" came from the fact that he, the doctor, deliberately filled the bladder with as much water as it would take and then removed the instrument. He made the mistake of leaving the vampire's organ aimed to the side and right at him.

Determined not to be stuck with that much painful pressure, Damon forcefully peed onto the floor and onto Maxfield's left leg. The water soaked the bandage on the doctor's thigh and ran down into his shoe before he could hobble away, cursing.

Damon grinned and chuckled to himself. Maxfield might be in charge and have the upper hand, but Damon scored a few points himself.

Warren, watching all this, hid his smile and thought the same thing.

"Let him lie in that," the doctor snapped. Cursing under his breath, the man left the room, limping up the stairs in one corner of the room. One of his shoes made a squishing sound with each step.

"You're just bound and determined to mess with him, aren't you?" Warren said with a touch of humor in his voice. He took the instrument Maxfield had just used and went to the area where he cleaned them. "I get the feeling that you are not as dumb as you pretend to be. Am I right?" He glanced back at the vampire lying on the wet table, which actually had a drain hose leading down to a bucket on the floor.

Damon grinned at him.

"Okay, you sly dog," Warren said. "No one puts things over on the doc, but you're doing a good job of messing everything up for him. He'll hurt you for that, you know."

Damon raised an eyebrow and shrugged his shoulders.

"It's your body," Warren said, setting the instrument aside to dry. "I think these things are supposed to hang up to drain and dry, but Wes didn't say I should," he said aloud, even though he was sure Damon didn't care. He washed his hands well and then he headed for the kitchen.

Damon heard the television volume go up a bit and suspected Warren was settling down to rest until Maxfield came back. He must have been watching a sit-com because there was a lot of canned laughter. Barely above the sound, Damon heard a voice. A female voice.

"Aaron, are you down there? Aaron?"

Damon turned his head as much as he could and spotted a young woman at the top of the stairs. A college student, he guessed. His first thought was that she could help him. He second thought was that she was in grave danger of becoming a prisoner. He saw her eyes find him and they became large with shock and dismay. She was seeing a naked man tightly strapped to a metal table.

Damon could only guess what thoughts might be going through her mind. After her eyes glanced over his body, they came back to his face. He needed her to run from the house and to get help. He didn't want to shout at her and bring Warren out of the kitchen. Instead, he shook his head violently, urging her not to come down the stair, but to run away. He also whispered that she get help. He even tried to send her a mental message that she get help. He put a frightened expression on his face and it was not totally fake.

The girl was smart enough not to come down the stairs or to ask him stupid questions like "What's going on here?" Instead, she turned and left quickly. Had Warren not been so close by, Damon might have asked her to try to free him. He had mixed emotions about her running away.

Warren came from the kitchen, a cup of coffee in his hand. He looked at Damon, who looked calmly back at him.

"Did you call me?" Warren asked.

"I asked if you would bring me some of that coffee. It smells damned good." He didn't bother to use the simple tone of voice he had used before with Warren.

"No."

"I'm cold and wet. A blanket would be nice."

"Vampires are cold-blooded. Being cold and wet won't hurt you."

"It still doesn't feel good. Come on, Warren. Be nice. If you were really a kind and generous person, you would even warm a blanket for me in the microwave."

"If I were a kind and generous person, Damin, I wouldn't be helping Wes. And if I cooked the blanket too long it would catch on fire. Or it would be so hot it would burn you."

"Fine, but I'm going to be shivering in a minute," Damon said. He wouldn't really do that at this point unless he made himself shiver. Which he did. He began to quiver all over, rattling his shackle chains. It made quite a noise on the metal table.

"Stop that! You're doing that on purpose," Warren snapped. He approached the metal table. "Lie still."

"Can't. Too cold. I was shivering like this in my cell, but you weren't there to notice. Come on, Warren. There must be some way you can warm me up."

Warren took his mug of coffee and carefully poured it in the middle of Damon's chest and in a line down the center of his belly, skipping over the restraints, and stopping short of getting the hot liquid on his pubic area. Damon gritted his teeth and refused to make a sound. His skin turned red where the coffee ran, but it began to fade almost immediately. He stopped shivering.

"Warmer?" Warren asked.

"Not nice, Warren. Not nice at all."

"Hey, I could have poured lower. Wes will be back in a few minutes and I don't want him thinking I'm babying you."

Damon just stared at him with his cold, blue eyes. "You want to help me," he said in a mesmerizing tone and staring intently into Warren's green eye.

For half a second Warren stared back, then he shook his head and forced his eyes away from Damon's look. "Can't," he said. Then, in an angry tone, he swore at him and turned around and walked back to the kitchen/lounge.

Damon figured both Maxfield and Warren were using vervain to ward off being compelled, and yet Warren had almost succumbed to suggestion. Interesting. And why had Warren said, "Can't" ? Was he in some way obligated to Maxfield like Bull was, or under some threat? Or maybe he was just afraid of the doctor. Damon hoped to find the answer to that and he hoped it would be useful. Winning Warren's cooperation was his best chance of escape.

_A/N I'm working on the next chapter. I hope you all liked this one. No more examinations with scopes._


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Damon continued to lie quietly on the table. There was no use struggling against the restraints. He would just have to wait to see what happened and to wonder about Warren.

_ Is Warren the weak link that might get me out of here? If he is, I wish I could figure out just how to use him. And what about that girl? I hope she gets someone to storm this place. With my luck, she's so shocked or scared she won't do anything and pretend she didn't see anything. I'm lying here naked. No way can she forget that._

After a while, Warren came from the kitchen again and went up the stairs. The television continued to blare voices and laughter. The lights remained on. Damon remained lying on the table, thinking. He wondered if Maxfield would resort to using the flexible scopes again. He seemed to like them like new toys, some new video game to play with. Some new instrument to torment his captive with. The instruments themselves had caused discomfort but not real pain, except for the ones up his nose and sinuses. It had been the air or solutions the doctor had put through the scopes that had hurt. That, plus Maxfield's fumbling use of the tools.

Aside from causing pain to his prisoner, what was the doctor trying to accomplish? Damon knew that originally Augustine had been hoping to cure diseases with vampire blood. So had a couple of other doctors who had been associated with him. Somewhere along the way, Augustine's cruel streak had taken over, and causing pain and humiliation had become more important to him than finding cures. In addition, some of what he had done had had sexual overtones. No, not overtones. Frank sex.

Maxfield finally came down the stairs, limped over to Damon and stared at him. Damon stared back. He could see that the man had changed clothes.

"What do you really want from me?" Damon asked.

"What Augustine originally wanted. Cures for diseases. Vampire blood has so much potential. And I'm hoping to create vampires that will kill other vampires."

"Like Jesse tried to kill me. Great. That's supposed to explain why I'm lying here **naked**?"

"I couldn't have tried out my new scopes if you were clothed, now could I?"

"Not some of them anyway."

"Your colon looked very normal. Did you know that the bowels atrophy to some extent when a vampire feeds on nothing but blood, no regular food?"

"I know they shrink down from lack of regular food. Been there. Done that."

"How did it feel when you went back to solid food?"

"Have to ease into it or risk blockage. Lots of liquids. Water, actually."

"Hm."

"I don't expect to be here that long," Damon assured him.

"No?"

"No."

"We'll see. You'll have to lie there as you are for a while longer. I have something I must do."

"Like teach a class?"

"It's the weekend. No class. This is something else important." With this comment, Maxfield limped away and went up the stairs again.

Damon couldn't see a clock, but he could hear the television. A program ended and another began. He figured the program would change in a half hour or an hour. It didn't really matter. Either way, he was not going anywhere unless someone rescued him.

He was surprised when a while later he thought he heard a child crying. Surely, Maxfield would not experiment on a child! Whatever was going on was upstairs, but the door at the head of the stairs was closed and he couldn't hear any words. The crying stopped and he heard nothing but the television. Listening to the television because there was nothing else to hear, he knew that over an hour and a half passed before he heard footsteps upstairs and the door opened.

Warren came down the stairs and stood by Damon's his left side. Like Maxfield, he looked him over, but mostly looked him in the eyes for brief moments.

"I heard a child crying," Damon said, a hard edge to his voice. "Is that damned Maxfield hurting a child?"

"No. Not really. She has cancer and he's treating her."

"With vampire blood? He expects vampire blood to cure her? He could turn her, you know, if he gives her too much!"

"He's giving her very small doses with time in between for it to clear her body."

"That's still experimentation! How can you be a part of that, Warren? I don't believe you're basically a cruel person, which means he's holding something over your head, like he is Bull."

"Her name is Brittany. She's my daughter."

Damon was a bit shocked to hear this. It made more sense to him now. He looked at the worried expression on the man's face and understood it.

"I'm sorry about the kid, but you're taking a big chance. She should be receiving proven cancer treatments."

"She's had them, Damin, and they aren't working. This is our only hope. With vampire blood, she has already outlived the time the doctors told my wife and me."

"If I was sure my blood could cure her, I'd give it willingly. But what Maxfield is doing here to me is something else again. It has nothing to do with her."

"I know. But like you said, that's what he's holding over me."

"Help me escape and I'll give you the blood to give to her."

"That won't work. Wes does something else to it. I don't know what. It's so she won't turn."

"What is there to do to it?"

"I don't know. It has something to do with the vervain."

"Vervain clears out quickly." Damon didn't really know how long it took for all traces to clear out.

"He says it's the residue."

"I don't think that's the truth. I mean, I've seen how vampire blood can heal humans. I've been healed by special blood myself."

"Why would you need special blood?"

Damon realized that he should not say why. If Maxfield didn't know about hybrid blood, he, Damon, was certainly not going to tell him.

"It was a vampire thing."

"Is your blood **tainted**? Wes gave Brittany some of your blood!"

"Right now it's only tainted by vervain and that's about worn off, as you can guess."

Damon felt traces of weakness, but he knew he could move well. He didn't waste his energy fighting the restraints, however.

"Why did you pretend to be retarded when I first talked to you?"

"Just testing you. You might have gotten careless. Look, Warren, I've had a lot of vervain in the last day or two. However long I've been here. A couple of times in the past, like when Augustine had me, I was overdosed and reacted badly to it. Seizures and all. That could happen again here. You better warn Maxfield. Or better yet, let me go so he won't dose me again."

"I can't let you go, Damon. I don't like what he's doing to you, but I can't go against him. Not with Brittany's health in the balance."

Frustrated, Damon swore, but not specifically at Warren. He struggled against the restrains, hoping that he now had the strength to break the chains on the wrist shackles. But something else happened. It was the very thing he had warned Warren about. His muscles began to twitch. It was not caused by a new dose of vervain. It was a build-up of the so-called residue and his body's rejection of it.

"Oh, damn! Shit! Warren!" he said in a squeak as his throat tightened and he began to shake. It was the type of seizures he had had a long time in the past, but not since. The muscles jumped and contracted, actually snapping one of his right arm bones. His teeth clamped together, biting the edge of his tongue so that foamy blood came to his lips. His fangs came down, piercing his lower lip. Spasms in back muscles arched his back, straining against the restraints over his chest and cracking ribs. Despite his tight throat, groans and cries of agony escaped.

Not only did he stiffen and shake, but he also thrashed about, rolling side to side in the restraints until the narrow metal table he was on actually tipped over to his left. Warren, who had been watching in disbelief, tried to grab the table, but couldn't keep it upright. It landed with a crash as he jumped back before the edge could land on his feet.

Damon was barely awake, but he heard Warren yelling for Maxwell. He was also aware of a lot of pain and movement which he had no control over. His left elbow had slammed into the floor and had broken. His left hip was cracked, but basically, he just hurt all over. He wasn't aware his fangs had been down, nor that they went back up. His eyes had rolled upward under his lids and he couldn't see, but he could hear as his body relaxed. All the violent muscle contractions stopped and the lesser shaking subsided. The pain stayed.

"What the hell happened here?" he heard Maxfield demand. "What did you do?"

"I didn't do anything, Wes! He and I were just talking and he started to have a seizure. It was really violent. So much so that the table went over."

"He faked it. Can't you see that?" The doctor was angry.

"I don't think so. I heard bones breaking. I don't know how many. That bone in his right arm is almost poking through the skin."

"Let's see if we can get the table upright," Maxfield said. He and Warren had a hard time trying to do that with Damon's weight tied to it. "We'll have to unstrap him," the doctor finally said. "I don't want to get a hernia trying to lift this. I'll get some vervain. I'm sure the last dose has worn off."

"He told me too much vervain has given him seizures in the past," Warren said.

"That's what he told you? Well, I think he's lying to you. Don't be gullible, Warren. He's going to get another injection. I'm not unstrapping him without it." Maxfield walked over to the cabinet where he kept various drugs.

Damon was able to open his eyes and focus on Warren, who was squatting down beside him. He gave the man a pleading look. The truth was he didn't want to have another seizure. It hurt a lot and scared him. While it lasted, it was as bad as being tortured. Maybe even worse.

"Help me," he whispered, spitting bloody foam from his lips.

"I can't. I'm sorry," Warren said and he meant it.

The doctor returned and stuck a needle into Damon's right upper arm. Then he and Warren stood by until Damon closed his eyes in unconsciousness.

"All right, let's get him loose," Maxfield said. He still had a sore elbow and sore thigh, but he was trying to ignore that and do what had to be done. In a minute, he and Warren had Damon free of the table restraints. The waist belt, wrist shackles and ankle shackles remained.

"Pull on his right arm until the bones align," the doctor said.

"I can't really get the right angle," Warren told him, trying to pull, but of course the arm was shackled to Damon's waist. Still, Warren pulled and pushed enough to the point that the bone ends went together and grabbed onto each other.

The break in Damon's left elbow pulled itself into alignment, and the crack in his left hip healed, although slowly. So did the ribs.

"It's amazing to watch him heal," Warren said. He thought about what Damon had said about the vampire blood and that it could heal Brittany without whatever Maxfield was doing to it. Was the doctor dragging out the girl's cure just to keep control over him, the father?

They righted the table, but didn't put Damon on it. "Let's put him back in the cell," Maxfield said. "You get him under his armpits and I'll take his feet. I can do it with one hand if I use the shackle chain."

Warren sat the vampire up and slipped his hands under the armpits and around the cold chest. He waited for Maxfield to get a grip on the ankle chain. He noticed that there was some sort of smell coming from Damon and he suspected that it was from the exertion of the seizure combined with too much vervain. He wondered if this last dose would bring about another seizure.

Maxfield took a grip on the chain and lifted. Warren lifted, too. Once again Damon was carried from one place to another.

_A/N I hope you liked this chapter. It explains why Warren is helping the doctor. I don't know if too much vervain would give a vampire seizures, but why not? Elena will eventually be captured, but not yet. Damon later said he was a prisoner for two days, but I think this is going to add up to three._


End file.
